Blood, Wine and Vows
by lostloveloki
Summary: An amalgamation of two requests by Silverducks. The requests were -Sif and Loki have been betrothed since they were kids and their nuptials are fast approaching. and -Sif finds herself having quite romantic dreams about Loki and she isn't sure if it's a trick of Loki's or not.


The first blood was drawn.

Sif knew her time had come. She felt the pain stab through her, forcing her to double over. It wasn't merely the physical affliction that tore at her, but the knowledge that her fate was sealed. She would lose it all. Her past, her ties, her life as it had been… Everything was shifting out of focus. Everything was paling out of existence. The pain ripped through her every fiber, as she felt her days of sparring in the training yard come to an end, and felt the mad quests for glory beside the warriors three crumble to pieces. There would be no more nights in the house of her parents, and no more childish and carefree days of bliss. It was all over. Judgment had been passed.

She was a woman now.

With her 324th birthday came the final sign of her ripeness, in the form of the gushing red bloodstain on her bed. It was not the blood of victories won, nor the blood of battles fought. It was the blood of defeat. The blood of change. It was the blood for which she would be forced to leave the present comforts of her life behind. It was a death sentence for any freedom she possessed.

She knew all along that this day was coming. She knew since the day she'd asked her mother about the strange swelling of her formerly flat chest. She knew for centuries, but she always forced her thoughts away from her unhappy future…

There was nowhere left to run.

When her mother came into her bedchamber that morning, and found her daughter doubled over in pain, clutching her lower abdomen, she knew exactly what ailed her. Jittery with excitement, Lady Astrid embraced her daughter but broke away quickly, running off to inform her husband of the glorious news.

A guffaw echoed through the stone cottage, and a plate fell to the ground, shattering into hundreds of tiny fragments. Sif covered ears, clawing at her hair, as the joyous murmur of her parents' voice came wafting through the door. Glaring daggers across the room, at the door her mother had left ajar, she groaned and slowly pushed herself off the bed. She blinked a couple of times, and cleared her throat. Yawning, she tried to straighten her spine slowly, trying to force the pain away. It continued stabbing her like a spear, but the change in posture brought a slight relief. Still looking at the door, her feet sought out her fox fur slippers which had somehow buried themselves slightly beneath her bed. Cracking her neck to one side, and sighing, she rose at last and headed for the dining room

Tyr's face lit up at the sight of his matured daughter, eyeing her bloodstained nightgown with a grin. "Good morning young Queen," he chortled lowering his head, bowing happily. "Should we call you 'majesty' from now on or will we still be able to call you by your name?" He smirked, his cheeks flushing with merriment. Tyr's entire body shook as he chuckled, his thick, braided beard oscillating with the motion. His bushy pepper hair contrasted wildly with the youthful gleam in his eyes as he kept his eyes locked upon her.

Sif snorted. "Don't be ridiculous father." She pushed her tangled hair out of her face, and she picked up a glass of water from the table.

"Come now, Sif, aren't you the least bit excited!" he slammed his hand on the table, wearing a broad grin triumphantly, "This means you're getting married soon! It's a joyous occasion! Most girls would jump at such a magnificent chance!"

She rolled her eyes mockingly whilst she downed the water in one swift motion. Pulling a chair out beside her father, Sif sat down and adjusted it so that she could see him clearly.

"You of all people should know best that I'm not like most girls." Sif spoke pointedly, pulling out a dagger that had been strapped onto her outer thigh all night. She balanced the dagger for a couple of seconds, wearing the savage expression of an amused predator. She pressed the sharp tip into her mother's ochre coaster, so that the dagger balanced itself without her support.

He snickered, resting his hand upon her shoulder. "That you most certainly are not, Sif. You're my little warrior, and you've made me very proud."

She smiled knowingly, white teeth bright in the dim room.

"You've made me proud by stabbing that ugly coaster," he chortled, "but you'll making me even prouder by becoming Asgard's great warrior Queen." Tyr squeezed her shoulder, trying to maintain eye-contact, but she scoffed, the joyous wickedness seeping out of her, and continued to tug her shoulder away.

She stared down at the meat before her, scowling at it in obvious distaste. Lips pressed together, Tyr began cutting away at his large slab of meat. "I will never be Queen, and you know it. You betrothed me not to the elder son, but to the younger, remember? You betrothed me to Loki, and Loki will certainly never attain the throne. Thus I never shall either."

"A man can dream, can't he?" Tyr shrugged, scarfing down a mouthful. Sif's mother watched the entire interplay between father and daughter from across the table, amusement flickering on usually unused lips. Father and daughter were so similar, and yet they couldn't see it, despite the centuries…

"But why did you have to force those dreams onto me?" Sif muttered under her breath, clenching her hands around the cutlery she'd just picked up.

"What did you say?" Tyr asked, cocking his head to the side.

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped tighter. "I said that you forced your dreams onto me!" She pushed her chair back a little and grabbed the hilt of her dagger, seemingly ready to pick it up. "I don't want to marry Loki! I don't even like him." She yanked it out, and carved lines into the wooden table with every word that ensued, "He's a trickster, a liar and a cheat." She snarled in frustration, and continued, "There's not an honorable bone in him. He is a man who is starved. So desperately hungry for something. It's worst when he sees Thor talking to the Allfather…He's not a prince… he's a parasite!" She picked up her dagger, and stared at her reflection in revulsion. Her bright eyes and high cheekbones made it impossible for her to not see the physical resemblance to Loki.

"Silence Sif!" his tone grew icy and his voice quietened considerably. "You could be severely punished if someone heard you speak so insolently of the prince of Asgard. They could torture you, and none would bat an eye, and I couldn't even intercede... And I know several men who would be far too glad to watch you suffer."

"Then let them have their fun! I will suffer more than enough if you make me marry that damned /princeling/," she stabbed the turkey at the final word. Leaving the knife in the cadaver, before storming off.

Loki bobbed through the tavern-circuit, flitting through the crowd with practiced ease, as he remained shrouded in invisibility. He lent his ear to the gossipmongers, though they did not know it, picking up the most spiteful details of court, lest he were to need material for blackmail the next time one of those oafs decided it was high time to punch the prince. Silent as a cat, Loki was heading towards the queen of gossip, Sigyn, when his name was dropped.

"-Loki. She simply seems to hate the young prince, "Lord Tyr spoke onto a comrade in arms, cheeks ruddy with the effects of mead already, though he'd only arrived an hour ago.

"What d'ya mean?" his stout comrade drawled, draping his arm around Tyr's shoulder. "Yer pretty rose don't like the raven prince, eh?"

Tyr nodded, clearing his throat and punching his chest twice. "She thinks he's dishonorable and terrible… she hates him, I tell you. She kept talking about him being creepy. Oh! And she called him a jealous parasite!" He shook his head, staring at his goblet pensively.

"Ha! Women! Yer know that's what me wife said about me too when we're young. Now she's always eager for a piece of me." The drunken warrior chortled. "Three guesses which piece!" He laughed so hard that Tyr's goblet clattered off the ornate wooden table, and spilled over Loki's shoe.

"Oh Bora! You foolish fat man!" Tyr's face split into a grin, bending back over the bench, and swooping up the empty chalice. Straightening up, he clicked his fingers, catching the eye of one of the barmaids, who nodded in understanding.

"I'll pay for it," Bora beamed, patting Tyr on the back.

"You certainly know how to cheer up a friend. Mead goes straight to every man's heart," Tyr smirked.

Meanwhile, a trail of the tavern's fine produce headed out of the bustling room back towards the palace.

As the midnight bell tolled through the empty corridors, Loki began his preparations. A pained expression graced his features as he poured the crushed contents of a mortar into a chalice, mixing it with wine and another black liquid. He picked up the chalice, rotating his wrist in slow motions, so that the liquid flowed gladly in its confines, giving off a faint fruity, yet rotten whiff. Once he stopped the motion, the purple liquid returned to equilibrium, and he saw his pale features sharpen within its reflection as the firelight struck him.

Deep set eyes, displayed the grueling questions that revolved within his mind. Was he truly so repulsive? What had he done to deserve the titles of "creep" and "parasite"?

His cheeks paled just a little more as the clouds cleared, and moonlight streamed onto his face through the open window. His thin lips pressed together, and he took a deep breath. He raised the chalice to the moon and proclaimed, "For a second chance."

In one swift motion, he downed the entire contents. His face contorted in disgust, but before he could dwell on it, everything began spinning. Reaching around like a blind man, Loki stumbled to his bed, breathing heavily, and twisting uncomfortably until he lay still atop the silk sheets like a corpse, hands resting on his abdomen, and staring at the ceiling. Taking deep breathes he world swirled out of focus and Sif appeared.

She wore a sheer red evening gown, upper back bared, and shoulders free. Her hair was piled up in a neat updo, and her searching gaze was fixed upon the stars of the glittery Asgardian night sky, shimmering with millions of densely illuminating stars.

"My lady," he called softly, walking slowly to stand beside her, wearing his best ceremonial garbs, strategically leaving his helmet behind. He smiled down at her, but her uninhibited dream-self scowled in response.

"What do you want Loki?"

He cocked his head to the side, and kept the polite smile plastered to his lips," Why must I want something, dear Lady Sif?"

"Because you're Loki, and Loki always wants something. A prank, some pain, or the satisfaction of making others flounder," the malice dripped from her lips whilst trying to penetrate his composed demeanor with her falcon eyes.

"You think so little of me, my darling."

"Don't call me that," she snapped immediately, taken aback by the endearment. "We're not married yet, and I won't be your bedmate or the victim of your perpetual mischief until I have to be."

Loki blinked rapidly, recoiling as if he'd been slapped. He may have heard of her disliking for him, and even felt her indifference over the years, but this… No he'd never thought she loathed him thus.

"I wasn't-I- No… I-"

Her eyebrows shot up and she spun on her crimson heel to face him fully.

"The silvertongue is speechless?" she couldn't help but break into a grin, which stretched from ear to ear, for the first time in her dream. "Why, Ragnarok must be upon us! I never thought I would live see this day!" Her eyes shone strangely, as if she had been revived by his lack of eloquence, and she leant comfortably back against the railing.

"I was merely hoping to take you for a walk in the garden," he said measuredly, slipping into his old patronizing tone. She raised a sardonic brow. "-and no, Lady Sif, that is not part of a particular nature-bound kink. Simply going on a walk. Though the other would be fun too, if you think you're up for it…" he smirked, extending his hand to her, and bowing down far too low for it to be deemed polite.

She couldn't help but laugh at the surreal contrast between his dead serious tone and the words themselves.

"Well, it's a great loss for you that it shall only be a walk, as I've been told that I am rather skilled in many kinky fields of… practice," she grinned and moved as if to reach forward to take his hand, but hesitated, remembering how wounding he'd been to several people at a feast only a couple of weeks back. "I'll only come with you if you promise not to talk. I shall not have your rancid tongue ruin a beautiful night like this with spiteful words that might make me want to choke the prince of Asgard with your own helmet," she requested, batting her eyelashes innocuously.

Gulping, he nodded and pressed his lips together, and proceeded to motion like he was locking his lips and throwing the keys away, the way he had done as a little boy. She gave him a skeptical look at first, but eventually took his hand.

Straightening up, he linked his arm with hers, softly caressing it with his free hand when they walked. She shook her head minutely and tried to ignore the tender attentions from her silent companion. The Queen's garden was so very heartbreakingly beautiful that nothing could have distracted her. It was walled away in the private courtyard of the royal family, such that the Queen could simply leave her chambers at night, so that if she felt the desperate need to commune with her plants, then she would always be within the safe confines of the palace.

Walking through the garden, they passed between the most exotic flowers that the nine realms had to offer. As the Queen's love for nurturing strange creatures was renowned throughout the universe, many of these plants were lavish gifts from the royal houses of each realm, each reminiscent of their native home planet. Muspelheim's gifts were fiery, Alfheim's gifts were mystically influenced, and Niffleheim's gifts appeared to be grim and deadly, though completely harmless and tender. All but Midgard had sent the Queen at least one exotic plant, but the Queen held no ill feelings to the middle realm because it wasn't advanced enough in its development to send a gift to the realm eternal.

Loki weaved a twisting path through the garden, heading towards its center, to the singular ice flower known as the "heart of Jotunheimr". The one meter high flower shone a cold and eerie blue in the moonlight, gleaming with frosted petals. Its translucent roots protruded out of the crumbly soil like the thick roots of a Midgardian oak tree. The ends of the roots dipped into all four of the adjacent fountains, turning the water in the lower portion of the fountain into blue ice.

Though Sif had seen all these treasures before, when she'd stayed in the palace during the months of training, every time she came to the garden, she couldn't help but reach down to the fragile looking flower in awe. The petals were silvery and bristly at first sight, the frost seemingly harsh and painful, but as always they were actually soft and tender. Her mouth opened slightly in renewed wonder at the texture as soft as wolves' fur, despite the chill the plant sent through her body.

"How can something that comes from such a hostile realm be so soft and tender?" she muttered, mainly for her own benefit. His lips quirked down in puzzlement, but he tried to disregarded it. It was true that for a couple betrothed since birth, they spent little or no time together trying to appreciate and get to know each other. He had been so deeply preoccupied with his studies in the magic arts, and she had evidently preferred the company of his brother, a preference which he couldn't begrudge her due to the stark similarities between the elder Odinson and Tyrsdottir. But now he couldn't help but notice the soft curve of her spine, her toned and sinewy body, and tenderness with which she approached these fragile plants. He took a silent, deep breath as he realized that this was probably a glance at how she might gaze tenderly at their children someday…

Though she is War, she raged in order to achieve peace. A peace she reveled in. The moonlight lapped at her skin, so that she seemed lovelier than a porcelain doll, though her ferocious red dress reminded him of the blood shed by this particularly beautiful war…

He came to a halt beside her, unlinking his arm. His hand stroked up along her arm, until it rested on her cheek. The touch was so pleasant that she didn't even think of jerking away.

"I am sorry that I've never told you how beautiful you are, my dear Sif," he breathed inching closer. Leaning down, he gazed into her eyes, filled with a new sense of appreciation for Sif.

Was he going to-she thought, parting her lips, and craning her neck up towards him -?

"-Loki!" she gasped, waking up with sweat trickling down her back and adrenaline surging through her blood. Strange warmth flooded her stomach as she remembered the reverent, loving way he had treated her in the garde- In the dream, she reminded herself. It was just a dream. That wasn't truly Loki. Loki was not kind, or sweet, or attentive. He would never be… She-she- she had just needed the attention after being starved for so long, she tried to convince herself. Clutched her furs closer to her body, the dream ran through her mind repeatedly.

It was her very first dream of her betrothed.

The days passed slowly, with the memory of the dream dredging up every time she saw a black haired figure anywhere on the palace grounds. Clenched her teeth together and holding her head up high, Sif tried to forget the moment of weakness in which she had actually hoped for a kiss from that insufferable man. She continued her usual routine of practice sessions, meals, and evenings with the warrior's three fastidiously, trying to forget. Though nearly everything remained the same, she couldn't meet Loki's gaze anymore, as her cheeks threatened to brighten with shameful thoughts. None but Loki noticed the faint difference in Lady Sif, and he hid his smirk every time she averted her eyes, and developed an uncommonly enthralling interest in the state of the marble floor. He couldn't help but feel a pang of tenderness, remembering his realizations in his dream.

He had to try again.

Every night he headed out, shrouding himself from all including Heimdall, and picked the ingredients for his potion from the forest adjacent to the palace grounds. He returned to her dreams on the thirteenth night, and every night that followed hence.

Quickly dream-Sif was no longer surprised at the presence of her betrothed in her dreams, and stopped scowling and cringing at his appearance. Instead, her dream self was filled with joy and anticipation of a peaceful eve together. No longer did her subconscious fear him. No longer did she shun his words.

They spoke freely in her dreams, laughing carelessly, recanting tales of their adventures and foolishness, even talking about the pressures of having such stupendous fathers who were celebrated by all.

No more did she shy away from his perpetual wish to hold and kiss her hand, starting to feel at ease with the passion they developed for each other.

In her dreams, he would whisk her off through the nine realms to enjoy the lives of fearless travelers, who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He showed her all the singular gifts that the nine realms had to offer, little secrets that only the ancient tomes still knew, though the people of those realms had forgotten. Even in their less adventuress visits around the realms, they shared wondrous moments of serenity like when they went ice-skating in Jotunheimr, basked in the hot beaches of Muspelheim, perused the beautiful works of a weapons smith in Nidavellir, and were wed during a holy ceremony in Alfheim's capital city…

Even in reality Sif began opening up to Loki's attempts at friendliness, soon starting to forget which conversations were born from her dreams and which had been held in the physical, true World, thus not noticing when he referenced conversations that had never occurred in reality…

She would come home grinning from her spars with Loki, reveling in the attention he gave her, and the challenge he presented in battle with the slipperiness of an eel, and the playfulness of a kitten. The physical exertion satisfied her enough for her to forget that they had never been physically intimate in either world, and that there were no plans in place to change that.

But things changed in the third month of their dream courtship.

Loki and Sif were still sparring though night had fallen and all other warriors had left. Even Thor and the warriors three had gotten bored, watching these two slips out of each other's reach for weeks on end, never ceasing their struggles, and never being able to adapt fast enough to win the war. Their sleek dance had been going on for nearly half an hour, before she fell through his double and was pinned down with his dagger pressed against her muddy throat. Though he panted, his lips stretched wide into a gleeful smirk, merely centimeters from hers. Staring into her eyes, he colored her lips with his breath, gasping authoritatively, "Yield?"

Mesmerized her lips parted, feeling an inability to tear her eyes away from his.

"Never," she whispered back lasciviously. Before she knew it their lips met and they began devouring each other passionately. They caked themselves in mud, when she rolled on top, abandoning the dagger across their training square.

Before the dawn graced them with her ever-loving presence, Sif and Loki had screamed each other's names into the night, for all of Asgard to hear.

That night onwards, the prince and the lady began stealing kisses in the shadows every day and visiting each other's beds during the nights Sif spent at the palace. Their fiery unions became a thrilling game, filled with passion and desperation, leaving both to fight with the goal of deriving the most pleasure and joy. They would lie together at night, strewn over each other, tangled intimately, laughing quietly knowing that they were joined exactly how their parents had intended for them, whilst pretending that their betrothal was an unhappy one. They laughed gleefully, recanting the shocked expressions of their comrades every time they spoke harsh, spiteful falsities straight at each other, and proceeded to live out their passions and fantasies in private bliss.

Every night in his arms, was a night in which she no longer dreamt of him, for she didn't require fantasies anymore to be happy.

"Your room or mine?" she whispered eagerly into his ear, standing pressed between him and a stone pillar in the shadows of the palace halls. Her hands were tangled in his inky hair, nails raking softly against his scalp.

"I was thinking…" he chuckled throatily; nipping and sucking leisurely at her lily-white neck, letting his fingers roam over her burgundy velvet dress. His lips slipped from her shoulder to her cheek and finally back to her ear, breathing, "-that we-", "-could go-", "-to the-", "-royal garden…" between each respective transition

"Mm…" she mumbled shutting her eyes and leaning back against the pillar, simply enjoying the wonderful sensations. "Will we be living out another sick little fantasy of yours?" she asked warmly, pulling his hips closer, and sliding her hand down to his neck, stroking it lazily with the circular motion of her thumb.

Chuckling, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he whispered candidly into her ear, "Actually I had the servants prepare our supper for us in the garden. I thought it would be nice to talk..." He smirked, pressing the tips of their noses together, peering at her expectantly.

Sif's eyes fluttered open when she registered his serious tone. She drew back. Sif quickly appraised him trying to pry out any fresh lies. "Earnestly?" she asked, disbelief in every facet of her features.

"Earnestly," he nodded, pulling back and raising her hand to his lips once again. "I have something I must tell you, and the garden seems to be the perfect venue." Though her brows knit together, his genuine smile chased away any doubts she ever had. Silently she followed him back to the palace garden, their fingers tightly together. Sauntering through the garden a strange sense of déjà vu overcame her, when she glimpsed the glittering frozen fountain which glittered like it was filled with pre ivory in the light of three moons. True to his word, there was a hand-woven basket overfilled with food and drinks, waiting on the edge of the fountain.

Pulling her along slowly, he only let go once he sat down, reaching into the basket to draw out two Midgardian glasses and a bottle of Asgard's finest brand of mead. Grinning, Loki carefully removed the cork and poured the creamy, viscous liquid, enjoying its bittersweet scent.

"What finery you bring me tonight, Loki… Is there a special occasion that I'm forgetting?" Sif asked in a chipper tone, her voice breaking off once she sipped the mead. "You have a brilliant taste, Loki… Quite like none other," she announced, shutting her eyes and basking in its exquisite flavor.

"I know," he whispered softly, eyeing her and carefully trying to memorize her languid motions and relaxed features one last time. "Why else would I choose you above all others, lovely Sif?"

She sniggered. Opening her eyes she leant closer and kissed his cheek, "Actually it wasn't your choice, but I'll take the compliment nonetheless."

"Well then…" he raised his glass mimicking Volstagg's voice and gesticulation to perfection, „To Sif. The beautiful, the fierce and the powerful lady of the silver tongue's heart," Bursting into laughter, their glasses clinked together in the still spring air, the sound resonating in sharp contrast to the softly lapping waters.

Loki's laughter died quickly though, knowing the time had come to confess his sins. It was now or never, and he loved his neck too much to risk letting her find out on her own accord. She was a wonderful person, filled with joy, life and happiness… but she was not merciful.

Feeling parched all of a sudden, he took a long swig.

"Someone's thirsty…" Sif chuckled refilling his glass, and nipping at her own. He waved her off, "I really shouldn't drink too much."

Her eyes lingered a little too long on his lips, but she shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm not wasting this." Taking the loosely held glass from his hand, she drank.

Loki looked away, a fresh wave of guilt welling in his stomach. "Listen, Sif. We really need to talk about something," his tongue flicked nervously at his lips, as he picked away at the inside of his right hand, a gesture she learnt meant fear. Setting the glasses down, she reached for his hands affectionately, "What's wrong, Loki? Why do you look at me like I'm about to die?" Her eyes tightened slightly at a thought, "You knew all along that I'm a warrior-"

He grimaced, "That has nothing to do with it." He carefully pried her fingers off him, pulling away slightly. "Besides, my words are more likely to sign my death sentence…" Or at least my death in your regards he thought to himself.

"Loki, what-"

"Please listen before you say anything," he spoke firmly. Her resolve faltered, and she merely nodded, shivering slightly when a cool breeze swept their way. He painfully dug his trembling hands into his thighs, flexing his jaw with difficulty, when he exhaled, "You don't love me."

"Loki! How can you even-"

"No. Listen," he insisted, holding his hand up, palm facing her. "You think you love me, but I've been lying to you all along, and any love you have isn't realm. I've been influencing you, and all of your feelings are built upon falsities. I know it was wrong , but when I heard your father talk about how much you despised the thought of ever marrying a cretin like me, I couldn't- I just-," he floundered. "Listen, I have always cared for you, and I wanted you to love me...and I-I- just wanted to have a second chance…"

She put the basket onto the grass, moving in closer to him. "-What are you talking about? I know I said some bad things about you to my Father, but that's before-"

"Stop it, Sif! Just let me tell you what I did, and then pass judgment."

"What more can there be?" She asked incredulously, trying her best to be compassionate and push away that inkling of annoyance in the back of her mind.

"D-Do you remember when you told me about your occasional dreams about me?"

She nodded solemnly, recalling how difficult it had been to overcome her fear of mockery.

"Those weren't simple dreams. I…I was invading your dreams. I witnessed them, spun them according to my wishes, and controlled portions of them. I-I- thought that maybe if I you began spending some time with me without being able to simply run away and hide behind your pride, then maybe we'd get along better, and maybe you wouldn't be so repulsed by the thought of marrying me… And- and- I couldn't stop anymore, because I ended up enjoying every single second we spent together- When we travelled, when we talked, when we began making love there..."

"Wait." She clamped her hand over his mouth. "You've been stalking my dreams?" she jumped onto her feet, pushing him into the fountain with both hands. Falling back, he spluttered when his mouth dipped beneath the surface, icy water forcing its way down his throat. By the time he had pushed himself up; Loki was coughing up water, and retching into the fountain.

"-w could you do that to me? How COULD YOU invade my MIND? Have you got no DECENCY?" she screamed. "You forced yourself onto me when I was completely helpless! You used my dreams to live out your little fantasies and you lied to me for MONTHS. You're an abusive, controlling man, no better than a rapist! Was I even the only one you sought out for your perverse dream pleasures? Or did you masquerade around at night going from dream bed to dream bed?"

"Sif! Of course you're the only one-" he exclaimed, scraping his knees as he stood up in the fountain. The water dripped from his nose and lips, and his hair plastered to his body.

"How can I trust you? You've been lying to me since the beginning! How can I ever believe that you are being honest with me about anything at all when all you've done is lie and deceive and lie a little more? How, Loki? How?" she shouted at him, limbs flailing discordantly. Her bright eyes shone with the undiluted anger seeping from every pore of her body, and reddening with fury.

"You can't."

Loki stepped over the ledge of the fountain, a new gravitas in his voice, and resigned acceptance resonating through the garden "This is why I will not dispute when you break off our engagement and explain my behavior to the Allfather."

For the first time in her life a chill ran down her spine at the sound of his cold voice. It was not fear or dread, but the utter desolation and resignation that hung from his usually so eager lips…

"Just know that I did it because I loved you too much…in a strange and twisted way. It's not an excuse, but it is the only reasoning I can ever offer. I do not expect your forgiveness nor do I wish for it. Goodbye, my love."

Squeezing his eyes shut to hide the tears brimming within them; he bowed once more and disappeared into thin air.

She didn't dream of Loki that night. Nor the months that followed. Loki avoided not only her, but all society. Loki skipped all state events, meals, training and even Thor's nameday celebration. The whispers of the people started up approximately a month after his self-appointed seclusion, creating wild theories about his death, maiming, or exile for some heinous crime which they had all been expecting for from the prankster. Even Thor began complaining about his brother's perpetual absence, but was continually assured by Frigga that it was important to leave him alone for now. Fate had to run its course.

Five months passed.

No dreams.

No glances.

No Loki.

Sif walked past his chamber heading down to the training yard, where Hefsgur, a mountain of a man, was hoping to pound her into the ground. Loki's door creaked open slowly as he stepped out of his room, hoping to peer over the edge at his mother's garden. Loki did this every night, basking in the beauty of the place that had made him fall in love, and the place where he'd broken both their hearts.

The sharp staccato of her heeled boots stopped immediately. Her head snapped up, and she swiveled around in shock.

"Loki!" The word reverberated through the empty halls, silencing the few birds that still chirped in the garden.

He'd grown gaunt during their separation, his eyes now too large for his deeply hollowed cheeks. A sickly sheen covered his grimy skin, and his hair had grown from the neat crop right below his ears, to a messy and greasy shoulder-length mop which spiked up in random places, wrapping tightly around his neck. But what shocked her most was the blankness in his eyes.

The eyes which had twinkled so strikingly for centuries, the eyes which had shone so joyfully with life, love and mischief…

Glazed and dead.

When he saw her, his once smirking lips stayed stiff in their perpetual apathy.

He simply turned and returned to his chamber.

"Wait no!" She ran after him, slipping slightly on the marble floors, pushing herself off the wall, to ease her turn through his unlocked chamber door.

Her glaive clattered noisily to the floor.

The Loki she'd known all her life had been impeccably tidy. A perfectionist like no other, who's belonging, just like himself, were groomed flawlessly, not even misplacing a simply matchstick in his pedantic little world. But this… This was not …

Everything lay strewn wildly across the room. Lamps were broken, chairs upturned, the mattress was cast haphazardly off the bed, with linens nowhere to be found. His wardrobe stood wide open, exposing nothing but a heap of clothes which were sliced to shreds, and a horned helmet whose horns were deformed and scratched beyond recognition. The smashed mirrors left a glass trail around the room, travelling conjointly with bloodstains.

"What have you done?"

Silence.

He went and sat on the floor, in the corner of the room with a single book in his hands. His torn and rumpled clothes revealed a close to skeletal body when he slouched back and opened up his book.

"Leave," his cracked and broken voice commanded at last, hoarse from lack of use.

"No. I'm not going until you tell me what happened! Tell me the truth!"

Averting his gaze, he flicked through the book.

"Answer me! Why have you done this to yourself? Why is everything broken? Haven't the maids been coming here?"

She stormed towards him, drawing to a halt a couple of meters away from him. A pregnant pause filled the air as she stared him down, pain lurking behind her determined expression.-

"The maids do not come here as I have forbidden their entry, and wish to be left alone," he spoke softly at last, "For the place I live in must reflect the chaos within me, and discordance between the two will no longer be tolerated."

"Why have you done this, Loki? Why?" she breathed shakily, stepping closer and kneeling down beside him. "Please tell me this isn't because of us…" Her voice cracked at the last syllable, trailing off to hide it. He turned away, aggrieved by the fact that he was close enough to smell her earthy scent. No he mustn't touch her... He had to punish himself…. Yes, punishment… Well-deserved punishment…

"Loki! Look at me!" She grabbed his chin, forcing him to face her. "Please don't do this Sif… I've hurt you enough… I don't want to hurt you more..."

He looked so small…

"Oh Loki!" She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed softly, stroking his horrible hair, "I-I forgave you a long time ago. I love you too much to hate you for something that's comparatively so inconsequential... I can't stand to see you like this-"

"-S-Sif?" he choked out, touching her arm.

"What is it?" she held him closer, pressing his head against the bust of her armor.

"I can't breathe," he gasped, weakly tried to pry her arm away from his neck.

"By the Norns!" Letting go, Sif scrambled to her feet, letting Loki fell sideways onto the floor. Covering her face, she screamed in frustration, "This is my fault. I did this to you! I made you this blubbering, broken, fragile mess. I broke you!"

"Sif," he croaked, rising slowly. "It is not your fault in any conceivable way. It is completely my fault. It was my shortcomings which did this. Everything, anything you see," he gestured to himself, "Is purely the result of my own failings."

Her eyes flushed rapidly. "I shouldn't have been so harsh- I should have come looking for you months ago. I should have been concerned about you; I should have been there-tried to talk to you-"

"You were a victim of my selfishness," he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back soothingly as she meekly pummeled his chest.

"You shouldn't have suffered like this. You shouldn't have. You shouldn't-"

"Don't Sif. Don't pity for me. Don't speak as if you broke vows never made, and things never lived. Never blame yourself for the monster I am. It is something I brought upon myself, and I accept that"

Her eyes filled up again, "The man I love shouldn't have had to endure all of this. You deserve better, so much better…"

He shook his head.

"I don't deserve you, or your love,Sif. It is the knowledge that I never have, and never will, which plagues my soul day and night. It was wrong of me to ever lay claim on your heart, your hand and your body. You deserve the most virtuous the most wonderful… the most like Thor-"

"Don't you dare bring your brother into this, Loki! I have never loved Thor. I have never cared for him an ounce as much as I care for you. I see Thor every single day, and he'll only ever be a friend to me. B but you… I cannot live this way anymore. Every day without your wicked grin, your gleaming eyes, your tender caresses…"

"Stop it Sif. I never said that you loved Thor. But you deserve more than me. Someone like him-"

"Don't say these things, Loki. P-please… I- I wish so much that you wouldn't have left that night. I wish we would have talked it out, and that you would have stayed there and begged for my forgiveness… I know I would have given it. I wish every day that we would have gotten married on the day of the summer solstice, as it had been planned. I wish every day, that we would have started a family. I would give up my sword and my life, if I could get my Loki back."

"Don't you ever dare do something as stupid as giving up your sword for me or for any other man."

"-I would gladly give it all up, though I was hesitant before. I know now what I can and can't live without."

"Stop it Sif. I would have never demanded such a thing of you, even if we were married. Sif, without her sword, is not my Sif. I wouldn't have changed a single particle of your aura to fit some misbegotten ideal. You are the only ideal I crave. You are filled with brazen little faults, and I adore each and every one of them." "Hold your tongue, you fool!" she exclaimed restlessly at last, before silencing him with her lips.

The taste of salt was poignant on their tongues as their tears mixed during their desperate kiss, resembling the hundreds they had shared in the past. Her hands tangled in his hair, softy tugging, while he pressed himself against her cold armor, enjoying the familiar feel of her metal.

"Marry me, Loki Odinson," she gasped between kisses, catching his lower lip between her teeth, hungrily pushing him into a plain wooden chair. She molded herself up against him, and continued kissing him, hands running wild over his lithe, brittle body. "Forget the past. Forget the pain. Please Loki…" she beseeched him between commanding bites.

"Sif-" he panted.

"Be my snarky trickster again."

He caught her face between his hands and slowly pushed her face back a little. They were both breathless and excited, like the happy lovers that they had once been. Their lips were raw and red, matching nicely with their flushed cheeks.

"Are you sure you want me? Are you truly sure?" he couldn't help but hide the hope that flared within him.

"Always," she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat away. He let one hand slip away from her face, and allowed the other to stroke her cheek tenderly while his first genuine smile in months surfaces upon his face.

"Do you truly want this mischief maker? The man despised by most?"

"I want you," she insisted, turning her face to kiss the inside of his palm.

"I want you too," he spoke softly, pulling her closer to press a tender kiss to her forehead. "And I mean to be your husband for as long as I shall live."

Tilting her face slightly, they shared a long, adoring look, as the birds finally began singing again.

In years to come they told their grandchildren that this was the moment they knew. They knew they couldn't survive an eternity apart.


End file.
